They say it's all about control,
that's the key.
Not her soul, her thoughts,
her therapy.

They say I'm fine,
nothing's wrong with me.
Not this building wall, or gaping hole,
or quivering.

I stare at shaking knees,
a plaid tablecloth and ***** blue jeans.
No one says what they really want,
no one explains what they really mean.

Just *** and lies and therapy.